A Country Gentleman and His Family · Chapter 24 (2/2)

After the wedding guests had departed Warrender ordered his horse to be brought round, as usual. He had, of course, been occupied all the morning with his own family, and with the marriage and the entertainment afterwards. Geoff had got a holiday, which he prized very much. (Lady Markland and the boy had been asked, of course, to the wedding, but it was perhaps a relief to all that they declined to come.) And if there ever was a moment in which Mrs. Warrender wanted her son it was that day. She was tired out, and in the nervous state to which the best of us are liable at agitating moments. Minnie was not, perhaps, in absolute sympathy with her mother, but Mrs. Warrender had a great deal of imagination, and partly by those recollections of the past that are called up by every great family event, and partly by inevitable anticipations of the future, she was in special need of kindness and filial care. Her heart swelled within her when she saw the black horse brought round. She went to the door in the gray gown which she had got for Minnie’s marriage, and met her son as he came into the hall. “Oh, Theo, are you going to leave us today? I thought you would have stayed with us today,” she said, with what an unfavourable judge would have called a querulous tone in her voice. It was in reality fatigue and weariness, and a great desire for her boy’s affection and comforting care; but the other explanation was not without reason.

“Why should I stay today, more than any other day?” he said.

“You don’t require me to tell you, Theo. It is getting late; you can’t be wanted there, surely, today.”

Now this was injudicious on Mrs. Warrender’s part: but a woman cannot always be judicious, however it may hurt her. He looked at her with quick offence.

“Suppose I think differently?” he said; “or suppose that it is for my own pleasure I am going, as you say, there?”

“I meant no harm,” said Mrs. Warrender. “I have not opposed you. Often I have longed to have you a little more at home: but I never said anything, Theo⁠—you know I have never said anything.”

“I can’t imagine, mother, what there was to say.”

She checked herself with difficulty, but still she did check herself. “There are some things,” she said, “that I wish you would attend to⁠—I cannot help feeling that there are several things; but today, dear Theo, both Chatty and I are feeling low. Stay with us this afternoon. It will do us so much good.”

She thought that he wavered for an instant, but if so it was only for an instant. “I don’t believe that,” he said. “We should only quarrel; and what is the use of a thing that is forced? And besides, of all days, this is the one above all others that I want to go. It is my best chance”⁠—and then he stopped and looked at her, the colour rising to his face.

“I thought Geoff was to go somewhere, for a holiday.”

He gave her another look, and the red became crimson. “That is just the reason,” he said enigmatically, and with a slight wave of his hand passed her, and went out to the door.

“You will be back to dinner, Theo?”

He turned round his head as he was about to ride away, looking down upon her. “Perhaps I may be back immediately,” he said⁠—“most likely; but never mind me, one way or another. I want nothing but to be let alone, please.”

Chatty had come out to the door, and they both stood and watched him as he rode along, disappearing among the trees. “I think he must be going to⁠—seek his fortune,” his mother said, restraining a sob.

“Oh, mamma!” said simple Chatty, “I would go and pray for him, but I don’t know what to ask.”

“Nor I,” said Mrs. Warrender. “God bless him⁠—that is all that one can say.”

But the house looked very dreary as they went back to it, with all the confusion of the wedding feast and the signs of a great company departed. They scarcely knew where to sit down, in the confusion that had been so gay a few hours ago, and looked so miserable now.

But Theo! What was he doing? Where was he carrying the heart that beat so high, that would be silent no longer? Was he going to lay it at the feet of a woman who would spurn it? When would he come back, and how? Already they began to listen, though he had scarcely set out, for the sound of his return⁠—in joy or in despair, who could say?